


Chasing Away Nightmares

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Robb Lives, F/M, Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: This is what she wanted all this time, she realizes; she didn't want a prince or a knight... she already had him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to hell, but I've started to ship Robb and Sansa. I began to wonder "What if he hadn't died at the Red Wedding, and the Freys just had him in their dungeon all this time?" And "Well, the Freys are pathetic so I bet they'd send Robb to Winterfell after their allies in the north were defeated..."

He comes as a gift; a "spoil of war" from House Frey. Jon remarks that the cowards must be quaking in their boots at the thought of a new King in the North.

All bruised and bloodied, the only recognizable feature is his unmistakable blue eyes. And they're all Sansa and Jon need see to know their brother has been returned to them.

More or less.

Jon immediately clears out of the Lord of Winterfell's chambers--he is the true Lord of Winterfell after all, and deserves the best chambers. House Mormont's Maester is quick to examine him; while many of the physical wounds he had endured have healed, the Maester fears there are some wounds that will never close, festering deep in the young lordling's mind. 

"Do you know who you are?" Jon asks him one morning. He's laying in bed, the furs covering the mattress pulled all the way up to his chin. The bright blue eyes observe him with a knowing look. 

"I'm Robb," a raspy, yet familiar voice comes from the man's mouth. He knows everyone and everything in this castle; he recognizes Jon, though he looks far older than his twenty some years--though Robb knows the same could be said for him--he recognizes the rooms he occupies, and the lords that camp beyond Winterfell's walls.

The person he doesn't recognize is his sister. The Sansa he remembers sang songs and played with dolls and prayed piously every day in the Godswood. The cold, stoic young woman that brings him fresh clothes and warm food is not the same girl. Robb feels guilty; his sweet sister has endured so much, so much more than she ever should have. It was his job to save her, and he failed. Yet Robb also admires her. Perhaps a part of him praises her strength; he knows deep down that she is far, far stronger than he. Perhaps they all are. He doesn't quite know anymore. 

"Sansa," he says one day, his voice more its old, warm baritone. She's taking away his supper when she freezes in the doorway. "I'm sorry." 

She turns and Robb swears his breath almost catches in his throat; even when she looks ready to murder him with some blunt object, she's beautiful. 

Sansa looks at him, but says nothing. Robb wonders if the years spent in the dungeons of The Twins made him into a madman; he fears he has begun to understand Jaime Lannister far more than he ever had. 

\------

Robb has nightmares. Well, they all do, but his require the most attention. He wakes most nights screaming and thrashing; sometimes his chest, his neck are bloodied from clawing away his guards. Every night, Sansa is the one to comfort him. She sits on the side of his bed, and runs her fingers through his auburn curls. Robb feels guilty about this too; he can only imagine the nightmares his sister has after being married to Ramsay Bolton. Yet here he is, unable to clear his mind, to be a man. 

Sansa comforts Jon, too, on the nights when he wakes with the faces of the dead haunting him, or the Night King occupying his mind. 

"Sansa," Robb begins one night when his nightmare was particularly horrible, "why are you always up at this hour?" She freezes and Robb can tell he's brought up something he shouldn't have, but he wants to know. He wonders if they can help each other through the nightmares. 

"I... I'm afraid I sleep as well as you do," she murmurs softly. "Robb... you once apologized to me. When you first were brought here. Why?"

Robb bites his lip and avoids her gaze; as much as he feels like himself more and more each day, every once in a while he loses himself. "I was supposed to save you," he mumbled. "And I failed you. If I could have done what I was supposed to do, none of this would have ever happened." Sansa tears up slightly and hugs him. Robb winces at the sudden, crushing hug, but he eases into it and smiles. "Sansa... will you stay with me?" 

The request is enough to make them both blush, but Robb scoots over obligingly as Sansa pulls back the furs and blankets, nestling against his still-weak frame. She remembers when he was all muscle and sinew; built like their dead Uncle Brandon. 

"Don't leave me," he whispers. 

"I'll never leave you."

The nightmares stop.

\------

Robb's strength returns to him. Before long he's training in the courtyard with Jon. Sansa can almost trick herself into thinking nothing has changed, but she remembers how wrong she is when she looks for her father and mother, for little Bran, for Arya, for baby Rickon, and instead she finds not even ghosts.

Her nights, however, are far from what she was used to before. She still stays with Robb, but now his arms encircle her waist, his bare chest covered with scars and warm red hair pressed against her back. 

He'd always been warm, but now he seems to radiate heat. And Sansa knows that warmth and heat, while similar, are far from the same.

The first time she feels _it_ , it's poking her lower back, just above her bottom. Sansa thinks about pulling away, memories of Ramsay and what he would do to her with his cock flooding back, but she doesn't. Instead, she presses back against it; she knows Robb is awake, and she gets confirmation of that fact when he gasps in surprise. He doesn't pull away, though; he lets Sansa roll her hips against his throbbing member. 

Sansa knows she should feel embarrassed, ashamed even, but she doesn't. The Targaryens wed brother and sister for a thousand years, and while Cersei was a madwoman, Tommen and Myrcella had been sweet children.

Robb aches to be sheathed inside of her, but he tells himself to wait. Maybe Sansa doesn't want him the way he wants her.

\------

Sansa beats Robb to their bedchambers the next evening; it makes her giddy to call them that. _Their_ bedchambers. As if they were Lord and Lady of Winterfell. It's a pretty picture; prettier than any picture Petyr Baelish could ever paint her, and Sansa feels like she can make the picture real. 

She undresses down to nothing and climbs into bed. Robb arrives just moments after her and she waits for him to undress down to his trousers and climb into bed with her. He does so, and goes to wrap an arm around her. 

"Sansa?" he questions; he's surprised but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his hands roam her body, and she doesn't tell him to stop.

His trousers are gone in seconds, lying forgotten on the floor as Robb rolls on top of her. He thinks of Talisa, of her bloody belly, of her corpse lying on the floor at the Red Wedding. He swears that _that_ will never happen to his sweet sister. Robb's hand drops to cup her sex; she's slick and warm, and his cock throbs at the promise of burying itself in her heat. 

Sansa whimpers and moans when his thumb brushes over her swollen, sensitive bud. Robb repeats the stroke until his hand is covered in her release and she's gasping for breath beneath him. She spreads her legs and he settles between them. The furs have long since been thrown back, and Sansa looks down and watches as Robb slowly eases his length inside her. While she soon realizes he's far bigger than Ramsay, he feels so warm and so good that Sansa moans immediately. 

This was what she wanted all this time, she realizes; she didn't want a prince or a knight... she already had him. 

Robb's thrusts are slow but deliberate at first; they're both trying to adjust to each other. Before long Sansa's long, slender legs are wrapped around his hips and she begs him to fuck her. He can't say no to her, and picks up his pace, grunting as she meets every sharp roll of his hips with her own.

"Robb..." she breathes. "Oh gods, Robb..." he ducks down and takes one of her hard, pink nipples in his mouth, sucking on one and then the other. She's starting to tighten around him, and Robb knows he won't last long.

They climax together, their names on each other's lips; Robb spills his seed deep inside her, not worrying about a child. She is his lady, he decides, and a child would be a welcome distraction.

\------

When her belly starts to swell, people whisper, but they don't care. Jon is the king, after all, and Robb is Lord of Winterfell. No one can tell them what's right or wrong.

Robb and Sansa wait until the very end of her pregnancy to discuss names and neither of them know why. Perhaps it's because of how busy their lives quickly become while trying to survive the winter, but Robb thinks it's because they had always been in silent agreement on what to name their child.

If it's a boy, they will call him Eddard. If it's a girl, they will call her Catelyn.


End file.
